


Internal and external remedy

by Fanfreluche



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, Young Dutch, Younger Arthur, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfreluche/pseuds/Fanfreluche
Summary: Dutch gives Arthur a massage... *eighties porn music playing in the background*
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Internal and external remedy

**Author's Note:**

> I did my back in lifting some heavy shit and got inspired! It's even more self-indulgent than my other fics, so be warned... And enjoy! ;)

Life is hard. It’s especially hard when you’re a young and hearty fellow who’s somehow managed to hurt his back lifting some goddamned heavy construction material - shirtless, of course - in front of a bunch of trendy young ladies - on a sunny and breezy day - not at all to impress them or anything… But when shit happens, when you’re confined to your tent all day long and can’t move an inch without the back muscles hurting like you’re being drawn and quartered, there are things you can do to make life easier for yourself. Like sending a stupidly worried Marston on daring errands; or pretending the pain is something fierce when Dutch comes checking on you to get some extra petting; or asking in your best imitation of a sick person’s voice if Hosea could kindly get you some hair pomade and cocaine gum too when he goes to town to fetch some medicine for your back. 

All of this was exactly what Arthur did, and so by late afternoon of the second day after the injury, lying on his bed, surrounded by a variety of stolen gifts courtesy of John - juicy red apples, a can of pineapples, chocolate bar, good cheese, even better bread, olives, one of Dutch’s cigars, Dutch’s best brandy, etc. etc. - and enjoying the light breeze that came in through the tent flap, he felt well enough spirit-wise to retrieve his new book of erotic stories from its hiding place and engage in a lengthy session of, as he’d once heard in an obligatory sermon, self-pollution. 

He’d just reached the third story, with a lit cigar hanging from the corner of his lips, head slightly buzzing from a shot of good brandy, when the flap was pushed unceremoniously aside, and before he could so much as pull a blanket over himself, in walked Dutch, holding some dark and ominous looking medicine bottle. 

Well, Hosea must be back already...

He looked at Dutch. Dutch looked at him, then at his cock grasped tightly in his fist, then at the cigar, then at his cock, then at the bottle of brandy standing on the ground next to the bed, then at his cock again, and judging by the lessening distance between his thick eyebrows and the gradual straightening of his mouth into a thin line, Arthur was expecting some sort of outburst and so was surprised when Dutch sat himself down on the clothes trunk, put the strange looking bottle on a table, picked up the brandy and poured himself some in a tin cup he’d blown clean first.

“Go on, don’t let me stop you.” 

“Okay…”

Arthur gulped. Tricky situation this. He’d been asked to do this before, but refused, seeing as he wasn’t much of an exhibitionist and got terribly flustered to be watched during the act. But now, getting caught with Dutch’s belongings among other things, it occurred to him it would be in his interest not to deny him at least one little performance… 

It certainly didn’t help that not a wrinkle on Dutch’s blank expression shifted in position - for better or worse - and that he wasn’t touching himself, not even when Arthur started putting on quite a show for him, blushing and smoking and all, and instead the man continued warming his drink. Soon enough Arthur found that he couldn’t look into his eyes anymore, but somehow looking down at his own cock - still standing in a happy salute - didn’t help either. And so, frustration mounting, he decided he’d take advantage of his still valid invalid status and turn the situation to his advantage. 

“Ach…”

“What?”

“My hand, it hurts…”

“Your hand?”

“Yeah, my hand.” He finally raised his eyes and looked straight at Dutch. Should have said ‘arm’ to make it more believable, but if he was going to lie he might as well lie badly. “Can’t move it, aches so bad.”

Dutch hummmmed, eyebrows raised, still unsmiling. “A problem, isn’t it?”

“You could say so.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Arthur sighed. “Guess I need to trouble you, don’t I?”

Dutch looked to be thinking for a moment. Sipped his drink. “How do I know you’re telling the truth this time?”

Arthur shrugged and then grimaced when real pain shot through his spine. “Guess you gotta-”

But he was up already. Downed the remainder of his brandy, put the cup on the table and walked towards him, standing observant for a while before sitting down on the bed next to him. First thing he did was take the cigar from Arthur’s lips and placed it between his own, taking a deep, slow puff before returning it to its original place.

“If you wanted cigars and brandy you should have just asked.”

He was soft today. Sometimes he liked it when he was soft, even let himself enjoy the brief disorder left in the wake of fingertips brushing through his hair. 

“It’s more fun like this, having Marston steal them from you.”

“You’re teaching him bad manners,” Dutch smiled. Finally. Almost imperceptibly. Took the cigar again, a drag and returned it, thumb brushing Arthur’s lower lip a bit longer in the process. His gaze eventually slid downwards. “Shouldn’t be doing that if your hand hurts.”

Arthur hadn’t noticed he was rubbing his erection again. Traitor hand. He pulled it away and almost immediately Dutch’s hand replaced it, thick strong fingers wrapping one by one around his precum-moist length, hmmm. Yeah, there are certain things that make life easier… After a moment of unrestrained bliss, he opened his eyes again and fixed them on Dutch’s. He stubbed out the cigar somewhere, anywhere, and hooked a hand behind his neck to draw him in for a kiss, which he obliged, for the long, tastefully slow seconds that followed. 

A noise of protest tried to escape his mouth when he was pushed gently to the side to make room for Dutch who lowered himself on the bed to rest himself next to him, hand still gliding up and down the length of his cock. Alas, a kiss might wake up an unconscious lass, but it can’t cure back pain.

“Painful like this?”

“Yeah, a bit…”

The understatement must have shown in his tone or on his face cause Dutch paused the manual ministrations. 

“Want me to rub your back?”

Arthur nodded. Dutch got up to get the medicine bottle, reading the label as he sat on the bed: “Minard’s Liniment. King of Pain.” He unscrewed the cap. “Hosea mentioned the Canadian trapper he got it from said it works both on man and beast. Should be perfect for you, Arthur.”

He couldn’t even glare at him, seeing as he was lying on his stomach now and the effort it had taken him to remove the top-half of his union suit and manoeuver his position into the current one had caused enough discomfort that he didn’t care to turn around just for a glare. Besides, as soon as the promised back rub began all thoughts of revenge left his mind. He closed his eyes, let himself melt under the gentle touch along his tender muscles. Fuck. This felt good. And it actually seemed to work, not some fake snake oil apparently. There was only one thing missing…

“Dutch, wouldn’t it have been nice...” His toes curled in delight at the thought. “...if you had three hands?”

“Why? This not enough for you?”

“So you could continue where you left off…”

Could hear him humming again and then a ticklish feeling on the nape of his neck. 

“We’ll get there too…”

And they did, at which point Arthur couldn’t tell if he preferred to continue with the massage or to move on to the other type of rubbing he was so much looking forward to. But some part of him was getting awfully impatient, and Dutch’s too by the look of his trousers, he realised, when he readjusted to lie on his back once more. 

“Wouldn’t want to rub this stuff on your dick. Might go numb or even wilt,” Dutch eyed his palms, then around him this way and that to see if he could find a rag.

“Could use your mouth.”

“What next?” He appeared to have given up looking for a rag, probably cause every piece of fabric in the tent looked like one. “First a back rub, now a-”

“C’mon, I’m in pain. Spoil me.” He purrrrrred, cupping Dutch’s face in a hand, snaking the other into his shirt to pinch and play with a nipple. “Will make it up to you later.”

Dutch considered the request for a few moments. Bent and kissed Arthur on the lips, then on the side of his neck, and lower on his chest - a shudder of the good kind jolted through his frame when a tongue almost brushed his nipple but not quite - then lower. Arthur sighed when the head of his cock was finally engulfed in a warm, moist grip, and wondered idly why Dutch was chuckling when he opened his thighs wider, almost involuntarily, breath hitching when heavy grips of hands pinned his thighs more securely to the bed, well-informed tongue teasing all the sensitive places.

Arthur had to clutch the sides of the mattress after the passage of several tortuously delicious moments to prevent his hands from flying to the back of Dutch’s head so he could fuck his mouth nice and deep, seeking his own pleasure. Mmmm… Doubted he’d like that at all. Maybe he should try it? Maybe…

But he didn’t have time to think on it much longer when Dutch abruptly pulled up and began kissing and licking his thighs, belly, trail of hair from navel ascending, pecks and higher till they were making out again, savagely almost, and in the middle of sucking on Dutch’s tongue he even bit it a little, just cause it felt good.

“I want to fuck you, Arthur.”

He was looking down at him, eyes burning dark, panting, stroking his sweaty shivering midriff with a wanting hand, slowly slowly, pushing his thighs further apart with forceful knees. 

“Don’t reckon I’ll survive that.”

Had to say it. He wanted it too, so much so that someone had to say it, someone had to have enough control to hold all hell from breaking loose. Didn’t mean he could hold himself though from bucking his hips desperately to rub his cock against Dutch’s erection, lying almost on top of his now. Must have been pleasuring himself when sucking him. The thought alone made his head reel with excitement.

Dutch growled something in response, licked and nibbled along his jawline and moved his hips to rub back against him, catching his rhythm. Then apparently having forgotten all about the alleged wilting effects of the mixture, grabbed both their lengths in a fist and began stroking them together at a leisurely pace. 

Too slow. He needed him to go faster already but he probably wouldn’t listen to him now.

“Bite me,” Arthur whispered, draping an arm about Dutch’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

He was kissed instead, on his cheek too, adding insult to injury. Was always like that, always had to do the opposite of what he asked of him. Frustrated, Arthur demanded a ‘kiss me’ instead to see what would happen, and true to his nature Dutch grinned and licked him along his neck. So Arthur bit him, on a mirroring spot, which meant he had to exert himself some to lift up a little which made his back twinge in agony, but never mind that...

Not when he was so close. So he held him closer, even if he was getting damned heated from the ointment's effect and the proximity of their bodies. He paid half-a-mind only to the things he was being whispered to in an ear, promises of what he’d do to him once he’d recovered, madness all of it, naturally.

He bit his lower lip not to make unnecessary sounds when he came, all over Dutch’s hand and his own lower abdomen. Eyes remained tightly shut, heart threatening to pump its way out of his subtly heaving chest. Could feel Dutch’s heartbeat too now, and the wetness of his cum added to his own. What a mess… Arthur laughed softly. 

Moments later, once Dutch had wiped them both clean with a rag-resembling piece of clothing, and while Arthur was trying to fall asleep to ensure a faster recovery, he heard a question that made him half-open his eyes and watch Dutch lighting the half-smoked cigar.

“What were you reading?”

“Some collection of erotic stories.”

“Any good?”

“Not really. Keeps interrupting the story all the time to philosophise about nature and civilisation and that sort of thing…” He yawned, blindly searched for the book and dragged it out from under the bed. “The author is one Miles Everette.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Could be a pen-name.” 

He threw the book at Dutch who caught it midair.

“Hmm, might give it a try.”


End file.
